


Hey, why are you crying?

by r_497385



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Crying, Dissociation, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Sbi finds Tommy yay :D, Self-Harm, Tommy's feelings go yeet, again i love projecting onto Tommy, dissociated feelings, they were a bit late tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29078964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r_497385/pseuds/r_497385
Summary: Tommy is doing fine in exile, even after his family had found him and was finally taking him with them.Tommy was completely the same.Before, and after.Tommy remains unchanging.They were not.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 30
Kudos: 287





	Hey, why are you crying?

**Author's Note:**

> I need to project guys, Tommy is perfect >:3.
> 
> Also another way to comfort myself from my anxiety building up from that damned egg. Venting too I suppose, remember this is also only roleplay!
> 
> And with that, please enjoy, and stay safe. Read the tags again just in case ;)

Time flies by pretty quick.

  
None of the people on the server could really pin point the odd feeling surrounding their normally chaotic filled busy country.

Somewhere, some people, more than they realized, knew what had caused the feeling, yet crushing denial pushed it to the back of their minds, remaining concealed, a secret to ones who were blinded by undeserved comfort from such an unfair exile.

  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first few times in exile, Tommy was still bright, full of determination set on only one goal.

Fight.

  
Fight for himself, and get back at Dream for all of the shit this green bastard has caused him.

  
Tommy fought. Resisting each and every one of Dream's request, menial and simple ones being treated the same, just out of pure spite.

  
When Dream just stares silently, fumes emitting off of his aura Tommy has yet to feel it's full wrath of, Tommy smirks.

Saying to himself, he'll make it through.

  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week or two has passed since the most uneventful day -if Tommy could even call it that- of his life occured, and Tommy was still adamant.

  
Be it riddled from anger, defiance or something else entirely, Tommy doesn't know. Tommy doesn't try to identify that something else.

  
Fear was something Tommy knew of, and he was adamant, stubborn, and certain that it was not that something else.

  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A month.

It's been a month since his exile.

Tommy believes that he's the one being lenient on Dream. Letting Dream bask in the glory of his generosity, passing days accompanied by voluntarily tossed out armor and supplies that would've taken so much time and hard work to put on.

And Tommy reminds himself again and again, he was feeling quite generous.

_"I'm feeling a bit generous today, Tommy."_

Tommy doesn't register the similar words bouncing inside of the walls of his head as someone else's, deeming it his own, he thinks he was the one who said it.

Denial, was the first step to confrontation and eventually epiphany then finally comes the big rebellion, Tommy offers to his wilting mind.

  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
Two months passed by like a blur.

Situated in the same place, area, in front of the same scenery, Tommy thinks it should irk him. The lack of variety. The lack of change.

  
Some of his thoughts betrayed him, waves from his brain signaling a familiar feeling he had recognized as serenity from his unchanging exile.

A pleasant feeling. Surprisingly blooming and growing inside of his body.

Vaguely, if Tommy were to search pass his clouded mind and closed up heart, he'd feel the faint feeling of suffocation hiding under that false sense of serenity.

But Tommy didn't. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week goes by, Tommy nearly loses count. Thankful of the scratches neatly decorating his skin. He tells himself, it's easier this way, to keep track of time with him anywhere he goes. He tells himself it's better to not waste ink or material on any of his stuff just to count the days that has passed by.

Tommy tells himself, he's got it together. He's being smart by saving up what was left from his supplies.

  
So Tommy continues to draw the lines neatly on his skin as days pass by. 

Nobody around to tell him the droplets of wet liquid gliding down his arms weren't blotches of excess ink.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
Tommy doesn't know how long it's been. He's officially lost track of time.

Spending most of his days pondering on mundane thoughts, totally unbothered by the lack of space he had to work with as his skin was bundled up in more and more bandages.

  
They seeped and cried red, yet Tommy failed to realize why, and kept looking at them. 

  
The look on his face could never be described as something other than admiration.

  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
Tommy thinks he looks quite peculiar.

If he were to stand in a crowd of people, he has the confidence of a god that he would immediatly get recognized. Right off the bat.

  
Tommy doubts his colorful body would go unnoticed. Though, if the observer was blind or overly stupid, Tommy couldn't really expect the same from them.

  
But the point still stands the same,

  
Colorful clashes of blue, purple and eventually black contrasted against his pale skin. Prominent bumps here and there, decorating his skin like a watercolour painting. Added bonuses to be found as the colour red also managed to seep through his whites.

  
It was wonderful Tommy thinks to himself.

  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Running his nimble fingers around his throat, Tommy nearly broke out into a wide grin as the feeling of jagged skin poked through his finger pads. Feeling the dark bruise circling the surface of his windpipe more than seeing it.

  
Morbidly skimming over them, almost sighing contently at the familiar sting that always follow his hands after they had squeezed just a bit harder than necessary around the overly sensitive skin.

  
The sting gave him the ability to hurt.

To hurt. In which Tommy had associated as a means to gain comfort, solace, and peace.

It brings up emotion inside of Tommy's chest.

Brewing incredibly dreadful feelings of how this is all wrong, how this is all sick, that there's something wrong with him.

  
With his hands subconsciously squeezing together at the thought, tighter, Tommy once again associates the feeling as comfort.

The voices cease.

  
And so does his breath.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
Tommy's hands stilled. Curling and uncurling inside of his red and irritated palms.

  
Examining the bloodied, cut limbs, Tommy tilted his head curiously like a cat. Wondering what'd happen if he were to push the pink nails, to then pull them away from his skin, pulling it forcefully the other way.

Eyes dilating ever so subtly, lips pressed into a repressed smile. 

Lopsided, though not enough to look like a grimace.

  
The full grin never made it towards his trembling lips.

Ears picking up on the sound of rushing footsteps, furrowing his eyebrows Tommy could only feel his lips twist down.

Who was interrupting him in the middle of his decorating session?

Tommy made no indication whatsoever that he had been aware of what he has implied.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tommy smiles. 

Simple crease upwards on the corners of slightly bruised lips.

For the first time ever, he's finally felt something other than pain helping him trigger his nerve system.

  
A slight bubble of excitement filled his chest.

Tommy was out of Logstedshire.

  
He hadn't really dreaded staying there anyway. Not anymore at least.

Not after nights filled with shouting and violent hands scraping and hitting against his skin, it was home to Tommy more than anything else.

Though, the different atmosphere made his heart swell with something other than the jabbing pain he's used to get whenever he let's himself get harshly dragged around and thrown to the side. A flying kick or two, which he really only got used to in the long run so he wasn't about to complain. The slight emotion spurred from the sudden change was appreciated. Even if it didn't serve too much purpose.

Tommy feels something else spark anyway, very very distantly, he could feel something growing inside of himself.

  
But it buzzed away throughout the entire time he was moved to wherever he currently was.

Slowly, Tommy wished he could go back.

A twisted warped sense of familiarity keeping him from feeling the genuine comfort the new people around him was desperately trying to provide, but Tommy didn't know that.

  
Tommy never knew how to think for himself ever since Dream's soft and warm hug. After his first jump off a high edge, to try and recreate his childish fantasies of flying -regardless of the ever burning and scorching red magma directly below him- Tommy recalls -not for anything else of course- after the overwhelming longing to just let himself float deeper down the ocean pulling him harshly everytime he woke up, after nails hitting skin, after thin and bony hands wrapping themselves around an easily bruised neck, after accidentally falling off a tower he was used to making, Tommy doesn't know where his ability to process things around him had gone to.

For all his actions listed before were just his instincts pulling him through, not a single objection voiced through his mind as these reoccurring things kept continuing as a daily cycle whenever he feels too much of nothing.

  
Tommy pleasantly thinks to himself, that's how it always has been, and he was perfectly content with that.

Tommy continues to smile.

Not able to process the weeping figure hunched on his bedside.

  
Only hearing what his senses confirmed to him were sobs.

Crying. Someone was crying. They were beside him.

  
Tommy doesn't understand the hand squeezing his bandaged ones, they felt frail, even more so than his.

And Tommy wants to think that this person might have been looking through his pretty carvings underneath the bright white bandages.

Maybe this person wanted to know more. Wanted to see more.

Tommy thinks that was what it is.

  
So Tommy squeezes back.

  
Encouraging the figure to lean closer to him and peak whenever they were curious.

Tommy almost falters, watching silently as the person seemed to have gasped sharply at his gentle movement.

Seeing green snapping up his vision. Tears smudged across red eyes, paired with dark eye bags, and bitten lips, Tommy thinks this person actually is pretty good at what Tommy does.

  
Perhaps that was why, when this person stared, anticipating, desperate look painted on tired eyes as they scanned Tommy's face over and over again in an attempt to find any sort of emotion from the boy. Who had just moved for the first time after their horrifying discovery. Had finally taken in the grey dull to his previously baby blue eyes, and finally looked deep enough to find the empty look behind them, the meaningless smile plastered on blue lips, they had finally managed to stop looking, and immediatly dipped down to the covers. Tommy saw a flash of fleeting horror etched onto the person's face, like something finally broke in them, as Tommy had often experienced himself which is why he knew, and Tommy thinks again that he might've done the opposite of what this person wants.

Pushing their heads deeply in Tommy's sheets, right next to his thighs hidden underneath the warm layer of leather, hands gripping even harder on the boy's smaller ones, muffled sobs that sounded like they hurt physically entered Tommy's ears.

Further proving his point.

  
Tommy doesn't think. 

  
He acts on instincts.

So he leans down slightly above the person's head, looking down and for a brief moment noting the pale blonde colour to this person's hair, Tommy was slowly reaching his other hand to pat the person's head, his other attempting to squeeze back as much as he can.

  
Emotions failed to help Tommy understand the situation, only managing to pull a soft smile, without a single ounce of emotion behind them, just mindless comfort, as the person only grew louder in volume.

  
Sobs becoming choked and harsh, heartwrenching to anyone that manages to hear them.

Yet Tommy was here. And he hears the awful sobs in full force, then Tommy couldn't remember the word he used to described those sobs. 

  
He doesn't remember the word 'awful'.

  
It left his brain as soon as it had entered.

Because Tommy thinks this is normal, he'd do this all the time in his tent, under piles and piles of poorly made rags to keep himself warm, Tommy would make these kinds of noises. He would even be louder sometimes. Memories of loud noises escaping his mouth as he clawed at his scalp pulling out strands of wild blonde hair, then Tommy tries to think again. Feeling the slight phantom grip constricting his airways as they grew harsher until Tommy remembers losing his voice from too much strain crushing his vocal cords.

  
Wasn't that called screaming, was screaming different than crying? Tommy doesn't know for sure, he's been doing both for so long he's starting to think they're actually one in the same.

  
Tommy doesn't know. But what he does know, is that it was supposed to be normal.

  
So he sits there patiently.

  
Patting the person's head softly no matter how much louder the person only seemed to get.

Tommy feels a tug on his sleeve, and he sees an almost semi transparent figure looming over both of their bodies.

  
The chills that went down his spine were not unwelcomed.

  
Letting himself be crushed by this transparent figure, somewhat resembling a ghost, flashing a loose grin in hopes of getting this other figure to coax the other person beside him to halt in their cries, worried over the sobbing person's throat.

Tommy simply tilts his head to the side when the arms crushing his torso seemed to have tightened, phantom breezes passing through his skin, giving the impression that something cold was pressed on his stomach.

  
For a while, Tommy thinks these people are so nice for leaning into him. Recalling all those times Tommy was so scared of letting anyone knew he had made these perfectly normal noises, for whatever the reason may be. And for that, Tommy thinks they're brave.

  
Listening to the broken rambles of , "Tommy....my-my baby brother...I lo-lost.... Tommy....my baby...my b-baby....m-my-"

Abruptly cut short by messy sounds of gasps and torn sobs, loud, clear, hurt, in pain, leaving room only for low heaves of air, desperate mumbling and wet shirts and covers consisted throughout the long hour, as Tommy kept on listening. 

  
Whatever sound they were making was tuned out however, when Tommy heard loud crashing noises and violent clanks thumping harshly against what Tommy makes out as solid texture, resulting into various amounts of disturbance in Tommy's ears.

Like the sounds of things being thrown around and being hit.

The crashes grew more and more frequent, Tommy should probably feel unnerved at how close it sounded to where the three sat there on his bed.

  
His mind was too distracted however, by the soul crushing, defeaning low howl sounding so inhumane, bouncing off of the walls, and echoing through the room like a howling wild animal crying over it's dead family member.

  
Pink flashing for a split second in Tommy's blank mind.

Tommy surprisingly thinks, that all of these cries sound painful.

**Author's Note:**

> And this is another build up for that Tommy Techno angst I've been writing for the recent events! Just to pour more salt into the wound.
> 
> Kudos and comments are highly appreciated, tell me if you want to see more of Tommy trying to get his feelings back with the help of SBI!
> 
> Though I can't promise it'll work ;3


End file.
